Today I offer you an encore presentation of my Father's Day post of 2006. In the year since I wrote it, my readership has steadily risen and is many times more than it was then. Many people, therefore, have not read it, and, as it is one of my favorite posts about one of my favorite people, I humbly present it to you. Those of you who still have your daddies, hug them tight; those of you who like me do not, send them special thoughts over the prayer waves. I will be doing just that but a big hug would have been so much nicer.
Today is Father's Day. To all you daddies out there, I would like to wish you a happy one, particularly my father-in-law, Matt, my husband, and father of my three children, David, and my own father.
I know it sounds trite; but my father was my hero. Unlike anyone else in this world, he had the innate ability to make me feel better when I was lower than down, and the gift of inspiring hope and ambition in just about anyone who knew him.
He was funny and talented and smart beyond words. His math professors would bring him out of other classes to explain complex Calculus problems to their students because he was the only one who could communicate the solution in a way they could understand. Because of his great intelligence, he got a perfect score on his SAT, the only person is the United States who did so the year he took it, and was awarded a full tuition scholarship to Duke University for academics. Professionally, he quickly rose through the ranks from engineer through the levels of management, until, at his death, he was director of world operations and ran the manufacturing division of Tyco Toys in Hong Kong. Despite this, Daddy did not parade his achievements. He drove a VW Bug even while he was VP of Brunswick and asked me to just tell my friends he was a manager. Daddy treated the garbage man just the same as he treated the CEO, which was with friendship and respect. He was a great man.
My father was corny and silly and social to a fault. Leaving church with him was near impossible as he had to say hello to each and every person he knew and introduce himself to the people he did not. He loved Benny Hill, The Three Stooges and The Marx Brothers but also appreciated Madame Butterfly, Aida, and Faust. He had many roles, many faces, and, in my eyes, many wonderful qualities.
Particular things spring to my mind when I think about growing up and Daddy, Sunday brunch at Tulsa's version of Tavern on the Green after church, just the two of us, help with my algebra that I could not understand and his frustrated sympathy when I cried because letters could not be multiplied, a police stop that resulted from his kidding around in the car to make me laugh. As an adult, I remember him walking me down the aisle, visiting San Diego while I was pregnant, and clowning around at Jessica's first birthday party with a balloon animal hat on his almost bald head, loving his new role as a grandfather.
At the age of 52, my father, my hero, died of melanoma. In barely a year's time, the monster that is cancer quickly ravaged his body and invaded that beautiful brain that got him so far in his short life. When he passed, Jessica was barely three years old and our boys had not yet been conceived. Not a day goes by that I do not miss him and regret that my children do not know the great person that he was, that he is. I feel him with me sometimes, though never enough. It could never be enough. Many years ago, but since his passing, I was going through a difficult time and I looked to the ceiling and asked him if he was there. I wanted so desperately to have him there to take care of me as he had always done in life. Quietly, my rarely used music box began playing and I knew. He still looks over me, my mother, and my family.
When I started writing this blog, two of my father's old friends from North Carolina, Bernice and Sylvia, individually said after reading it that I reminded them of my father. I don't think anyone could have said anything else that could have made me more proud. I am aspiring to greatness.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I love you.
What a beautiful tribute to a grat inspiration in your life. I would have loved meeting him.
I miss my father, too.
Posted by: Kathy | June 17, 2007 at 12:31 PM
Such a loving tribute to a special man in your life. He certainly left the world a better place for having lived. You do seem to be your Father's Daughter. I miss my Dad too --- I'm glad you repeated this. I know a lot more about you now. I'm sure he is very proud of you.
Posted by: Karalyn | June 17, 2007 at 01:29 PM
Now you did it! When I read this piece this am, I had tears streaming down my face. It made me think of my dad and I miss him. But I always feel as though he is around me. I just got back from visiting my mom and all of my brothers were there also. On Mom's 85th birthday we went to a pottery factory in the small town where her dad grew up and then went to where the ancestral home once stood. It was a lot of fun to be together again. It has been many many years since we did something like that. Probably more than fifty years.
I somehow think that your dad is very proud of you as he watches from on High. I look forward to learning more about you.
Giant hugs,
Posted by: Julie | June 17, 2007 at 10:55 PM
Damnit, Lauren! Thank you.
Posted by: Margery | June 18, 2007 at 06:02 PM
i will always feel like my daddy is my ultimate hero too. Even though I havent always shown it. Our dad the Ham, the Hero, the Man. I only hope that someday I get lucky enough to have a man even half as cool as my daddy. I am so glad that Anthony has him to raise him right. Happy Dathers Day Dad. Love from the other side of town......
Posted by: Meagan | June 21, 2007 at 06:13 PM
Music is like a little girl, which can soothe our wounds. So let us feel the music, it's just one of our family members.
Posted by: Air Jordan | August 03, 2010 at 08:08 PM